The Gay Adventure: A Romance
drunk. As the guard had said, they were evidently somewhat out of hand,
and the looting of the public-houses had not tended to assuage their
wrath. Fired by their alleged grievances, liquor, eloquence and the
electricity of a mob, they had spent the last few hours in wrecking the
town. The police had done all that was possible to stem the attack and
vindicate law and order, but they were hopelessly outnumbered.
Reinforcements and soldiers had been telegraphed for, and were even now
marching, but for the time being the local forces had retired to talk
over the return match and exchange of lint and arnica. The strikers were
in possession and thoroughly enjoying themselves.
Tony, whispering to his companion, "Keep close and don't get into
arguments: pretend to be a labor leader, if you like!" pushed his way
slowly through the crowd. Robert, his heart bumping with fear, interest
and excitement, followed him; he was afraid, but not too afraid, and he
felt that his holiday was proving a success. When they reached the
center of interest, after a tardy but good-humored progress, they were
rewarded with a sight neither had hoped for.
The thickest of the crowd was swaying round a large shop. It was termed
the emporium, and almost merited the title. The happy anarchs had
smashed every atom of the plate-glass, careless of the rate-payers, and
then had proceeded to abolish such of the fittings as offended their
esthetic sense. In the center of the window-space, standing on a chair,
was a cheerful striker, conducting a kind of auction. More strictly, it
was a charitable distribution, for no one made any effort to pay for the
goods received. The shop was a miniature Whiteley's, embracing
everything from a perambulator to a parachute, and it was odd to watch
the incongruity of some of the articles distributed. One man, for
example, was given a child's feeding-bottle, and accepted it without
demur; with a bellow of approval he seized it by the rubber tube and
whirled it round, shouting, till the tube broke and the bottle flew off
at a tangent. Another received half a pianola--the whole was too much
for him to carry, and kindly friends helped him to bisect it with clubs
and bars. A third, bemused with beer, staggered off with a dozen volumes
of _Comparative Religion_, murmuring brokenly. "Suthin' f'r the kids to
read," and dropping at intervals his burden in the mud. It was a
pleasant illustration of good feeling and unselfishness.
A few moments after Tony and Robert had penetrated to the front,
ready-made clothing was being distributed with a lavish hand. The
auctioneer would seize a suit, or a part of a suit, from the nearest
peg, and with humorous or profane comments throw it to one of the crowd.
"Who wants a waistcoat?" he was crying presently; "a regular fancy
article, double-wove, stamped on every bleeding yard! Just the thing to
fetch the girls! Just the thing to wear of a Sunday! and when the
bloom's orf you can use it as an 'earth-rug or a tea-cozy! Just the
thing--here y'are!" and he flung it to an outstretched hand.
"Now's our chance if we want a change!" whispered Robert. He meant it as
a joke, and trembled as he saw Tony's face light up with amusement.
"Don't be a fool!" he whispered at once. "These chaps are simply
mad----"
"Could you oblige me with a suit?" asked Tony suavely, but in the
clearest tones. The crowd turned at the university accent. Hitherto they
had been too busy to notice the new arrival, but as they observed the
opera hat, the smart broadcloth and starched linen, they recognized the
presence of one of the upper classes and looked black. A murmur arose,
growing in strength and hostility, and a voice suggested with painful
clarity the dissection of his internal organs.
Tony took in the situation: another minute, and grumbling threats might
be exchanged for action of an unpleasant kind; there was not a moment to
lose. "Let me show you a thing, comrades!" he said brightly; and before
the smoldering wrath could burst into flame he took off his hat and
smote it. The fabric collapsed with a ridiculous _klop_, and the crowd,
taken by surprise and ready to laugh at the mere trifle, roared. Tony
spun it into the air with a careless grace, far over the heads of the
throng; and as all eyes were fixed on its trajectory he pushed his way
forward. "A moment, please!" he urged, shouldering on toward the shop.
"By your leave, sir! Excuse me, friend! Beg pardon, brother!" And
behold! he was standing beside the auctioneer.
The latter glared his enmity, refusing to budge, but Tony took no heed.
All trace of boredom gone, his eyes aglow with eagerness, he
gesticulated for silence. The strikers, not wholly recovered from their
surprise, postponed, at least for the time being, the suggested
vivisection, and waited for Tony to justify himself. He was a fluent
speaker, and lost no time in beginning.
"Comrades!" he cried, "you see me as I am! I am in the unhappy position
of being without a hat and in evening dress. Unlooked-for events put me
in a train this morning, and it was not until the train had started that
I realized my absurd costume. What was I to do? Chance settled the
question. Chance brought me here into your delightful neighborhood, and
what do I find? A good fairy, as it were, distributing clothes for
nothing!" At this point a voice called for "Cheers for the----fairy!"
which were heartily given. The fairy, unused to badinage, retired from
the rostrum, and Tony was quick to jump up. "You see, comrades, that I
got a rise: may you soon get the same--may you get what you are asking
for!" A tornado of cheers covered his corollary, "viz., six months
hard," uttered in an undertone. Feeling was shifting a little in his
favor now, and he swept on. "Here, I thought, is my opportunity! I am an
outcast, dressed in the ridiculous garb civilization imposes on her
sons--the pampered scions of the aristocracy! You have seen me discard
my allegiance to the dukes: the crushing of the hat was symbolical. I
hate the petty trammels of the curled and scented darlings of the rich!
If you wish--if you will allow me to annex one of the admirable and
useful suits of reach-me-downs--nine and elevenpence ha'penny off the
peg--I will discard the remnants of an obsolete feudalism. My coat shall
go! My waistcoat! Even my----"
A prude cried "Shame!" Tony seized upon the word liked a practised
ranter.
"Yes!" he cried warmly, "it _is_ a shame that I should be forced to wear
these loathsome garments when self-respect urges me to assume a manlier
garb. May I take it that I have your assent? I put it to the meeting
that I forthwith st--take what I want." He paused for breath, but they
were dumb before this extraordinary creature. He hurried on. "Carried
unanimously. Thank you, comrades, for this mark of appreciation and
esteem. Behold!" He tore off his coat and waistcoat and trod upon them.
"See how I trample the badge of servitude! Observe!" He discarded his
nether apparel, knowing that he could not stick at trifles: the crowd's
mood might turn if he gave it time. Luckily, his audacity was rewarded,
for the audience roared with brutal joy at Tony's remarkable appearance.
Without hesitation he snatched a suit from several that hung at hand,
selecting the quietest he could see, talking furiously as he put it on.
"And what now? See! a transformation! A man clothed in sensible dress!
Hurrah for the social revolution! Hurrah for communizing the means of
production and distribution--especially distribution! And all the rest
of the dear old claptrap," he added sotto voce as he leaped nimbly down.
In the thunderous applause that followed the impassioned harangue Tony
slipped his arms through Mr. Hedderwick's, and they were allowed to make
good their escape. They walked in silence till they were clear of the
crowd, and then Robert paused.
"Mr. Wild, you were simply splendid!" he said in awestruck tones.
"You're one of the best chaps I've ever met."
Tony chuckled, tired but pleased.
"Not a bad effort, was it? But, by jove! I was in a funk half the time."
"So was I," confessed Robert. "I began to think I might have to use
this." He pulled a revolver out of his pocket and showed it. Tony crowed
with pure joy.
"Good lord, man! You've got a _pistol_! How perfectly splendid! What on
earth do you carry a pistol for? Do tell me--_please_!"
Mr. Hedderwick walked on in silence for a minute, evidently weighing
some problem. Presently he gave a gulp of decision.
"Mr. Wild," he said, "I haven't known you very long, but I seem to have
known you for years. What I've seen has interested me--impressed me, and
I like you. You know a little about me, that I'm off for a holiday on
unusual lines, but unless you agree to my proposal I shan't tell you any
more. You, it appears, are a free agent, young, with nothing to do. I
think we might enjoy ourselves much more together than apart. In any
case, if we found it didn't suit we could separate. If you feel like
adventuring for a few days I think there may be a little fun. I can't
promise it, but I think so. If you agree, I'll tell you the rest when
we get to The Happy Heart."
"One question," said Tony, "and don't be offended. Do you want any
money?"
Mr. Hedderwick thought for a moment and frowned. Then he smiled.
"I have two and eightpence in my pocket," he said frankly. "I came
out in a hurry. I could get more if I wanted, but I don't mean to
try, for I have no wish to be traced yet. I'm not a cadger or a
confidence-trickster. If you care to finance me till we return, so much
the better for me. If not, well, I'll do without and rough it somehow. I
don't mean to miss my holiday."
Tony smiled. This Hedderwick seemed an admirable fellow.
"What and where is The Happy Heart?" he asked.
"An inn at Shereling where I mean to stay."
"Forward, then, to The Happy Heart. I wish I'd bagged some boots, too.
These pumps are simply cruel."
They set out once more toward the station.
CHAPTER XI
AT THE HAPPY HEART
The landlord of The Happy Heart stood leaning against his door-post,
smoking a churchwarden. He was enjoying his tobacco and the summer
morning, and occasionally directing a bovine thought to the identity of
the solitary guest at present lying in bed up-stairs. The said guest had
arrived two days before with a view to golf, for the Shereling links
were well known. The Happy Heart was rarely without a golf enthusiast,
since it was the only inn in Shereling, the local squire (at present
yachting) owning most of the land in the neighborhood, and refusing to
let "his" village become an abiding-place for tourists. Wherefore the
neighboring town of Dallingham, six miles distant, reaped a golden
harvest, and its hotels were out of all proportion to its population.
The guest up-stairs, to return to the landlord's vaguely moving
thoughts, was a man well over seventy, but active for his age. An olive
complexion hinted that he was no Briton, but the testimony of the
green-keepers went to prove that his English was "floont"; and of the
magnitude of his tips the odd-job man of The Happy Heart could not say
enough. A man of seventy may be excused for showing reserve or desiring
quiet, and the landlord did not think it curious that the visitor
divided his time between the links and his bedroom: the man was
certainly a gentleman, perhaps an aristocrat, and there was no doubt
that his money was good. The only thing that bothered the landlord
was--why had he brought no servant? It did not occur to him that
solitude to the great may be worth more than the benignities of a valet.
The landlord shaded his eyes with a browned hand and looked down the
road. There was nothing to be seen. With an effort that was mental as